


Home

by Supersteffy



Series: Domestic Thiefshipping Shorts [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supersteffy/pseuds/Supersteffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakura surprises Marik with a romantic gesture. Thiefshipping one-shot. Rated Mature for light, romantic sex at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sitabethel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/gifts).



> Hope you like your present! Happy birthday!
> 
> "Home was a dream, one that I'd never seen 'til you came along." ~Jason Isbell (Cover Me Up lyrics)

Black leather snapped in the wind with each step, the worn duster flapping inches above the glistening pavement. White hair whipped in Bakura’s face as he turned a corner into the wind, and he tucked it into the coat’s collar. The fresh scent of recent rain mixed with exotic flowers from the bouquet in his hand, and a smile crept across his lips as he neared home.

Home. It was a strange concept. Bakura supposed that was what he’d considered Kul Elna to be, even after...but this was different. Although Kul Elna still was, and in some ways always would be, his home, it never _felt_ like it. It was a place that defined him, and which held sentimental value, but the most it could offer him was fragmented memories.

His new home was a flat in Domino City, but it wasn’t the building or the location that held any value. True, there were memories here too, both joyous and bitter, but the good vastly outweighed the bad. And all the good ones seemed to stem from the same source--Marik Ishtar.

Unfiltered joy spread through him at the thought of his Partner in Crime--if they could still claim the title, having _mostly_ given up the criminal aspect. And why shouldn’t Bakura be happy? After all, he’d suffered at the hands of Zorc for millennia, doing his part to return balance to the world. In his opinion, he’d more than earned the right to a peaceful, happy life this go around. Funny how tragedy could open the way to paths you never anticipated.

But those dark thoughts were fleeting, and did nothing to corrupt his good mood, which couldn’t seem to be contained. Bakura even found himself smiling and nodding at passersby as he approached their street.

Marik was in for a surprise.

 

 

 

 

Marik heard the door open and shut over the music he had playing in the kitchen. He glanced at the clock in confusion. Not even 6:30? Bakura was never home this early.

Setting aside the cloth he’d been using to clean, Marik paused the music and made for the living room.

“Hey,” he called. “Thought you’d be out hustling pool or something.”

Marik stopped when he reached the doorway. His eyes landed on the bouquet resting on the entrance side table as Bakura hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes.

“What are the flowers for?”

Bakura turned and grinned at Marik--a full, honest-to-the-gods grin that transformed his face--and Marik’s heart stuttered.

Instead of answering, Bakura asked, “Any idea what today is?”

Marik scrunched up his forehead and frowned, leaning against the doorjamb as he tried to remember why today might be important. Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t his birthday--thank the gods!--and it was nowhere near Bakura’s rebirthday, as Marik had coined it. Was there some holiday today he was unaware of?

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bakura jibed, chuckling as he picked up the flower arrangement and handed it to Marik. “Happy Anniversary.”

Marik jolted from his thoughts and pondered the flowers, perplexed.

“We never set an anniversary date. Even if we had, we’ve only been together, what, a few months? I didn’t peg you as the type to celebrate minor milestones--not that I’m complaining.” Marik grabbed the flowers and breathed in their subtle fragrance.

“Oh, but today is more significant than that.”

“You might as well stop hinting and just tell me. I’m never going to guess.”

Bakura snorted, his smile slanting to a more natural smirk. “I should think it’d be memorable--I certainly won’t forget it, seeing as how I still have the scar.” Bakura touched the sleeve covering his left bicep, where he indeed had a scar, twin to Ryou’s.

“You’re referring to Battle City.”

Bakura’s eyebrows rose as he lowered his hand. “Was there another time I stabbed myself for you?”

“No, but I’m still unclear how that has anything to do with you bringing me flowers.”

Bakura sighed and stepped forward to pull Marik against him, the flowers carefully angled to keep from squashing them.

“Five years ago today was the start of Battle City. We _met_ in Battle City. Ergo…” He trailed off as understanding lit Marik’s eyes.

“We met five years ago today?”

“Indeed.” Bakura rocked onto his toes a bit to plant a soft kiss on Marik’s lips.

“That’s--I can’t believe you remembered that. I certainly didn’t remember the date of Battle City.”

“It was supposed to be cemented in my head as the final days of the Pharaoh, but now I remember it for different reasons,” he added with a nip to Marik’s jaw.

With a happy hum, Marik held the flowers up for another indulgent sniff. The mix of verbena, purple papper, catmint, and baby’s breath made for a nice effect, and Marik had always liked purple.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“I got them to match your eyes,” Bakura mouthed against Marik’s throat.

Ignoring the thrill in his stomach, Marik rolled his eyes and pushed away so he could hunt down something to house his gift. Did they even own a vase? He thought he recalled Ishizu giving him one as a housewarming gift...

“Now I feel a bit bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

Bakura leaned forward over the island to watch as Marik squatted down to search the cupboards. “A few ideas come to mind.”

A moment later Marik gave a triumphant hoot and stood, dusty ceramic vase in hand. The brown and turquoise glaze didn’t exactly match the flowers, but it was better than nothing. After filling it with water and half of the packet of flower food, Marik transferred the bouquet and arranged it to his liking.

“What do you think?” Marik grinned at Bakura over his handiwork.

“I think I’m ready for my gift.”

Marik lowered his eyes in a sultry stare. “And what do you want?”

Bakura came around the counter and encircled Marik’s waist. “Just you.”

Marik ran a hand through Bakura’s unruly white mane and kissed him deeply, walking them slowly toward the hallway. Bakura sank into the kiss and allowed himself to be lead blindly to the bedroom.

They took turns undressing each other, taking their time to caress and kiss the skin as they exposed it. And when they made love, it was slow and charged.

Bakura felt the heat of Marik’s breath against his face as Marik rolled his hips, pumping slow and deep. It reminded him of the fiery breath of Ra as he and Marik stood side by side, waiting for oblivion. And the faint trace of rain from Bakura’s own hair reminded him of the pier, where he’d bled to prove his loyalty to Marik. The memories seemed so far away now, and Marik drove it further from Bakura’s mind with every thrust.

Marik sped up, little mews of pleasure vibrating against Bakura’s neck and shoulder. Bakura began stroking himself with his free hand, the other wrapped up in Marik’s fingers. Bakura came, soon followed by Marik. Afterward they lay in a panting heap, bathed in sweat and afterglow.

In time the sweat dried and a chill set in. Marik struggled to pull the coverlet out from under them. Bakura sighed his content as Marik settled back down against his chest, one leg slung carelessly across Bakura’s. Stroking the scars on Marik’s back, gently, but not soft enough to tease, Bakura listened as Marik’s breathing slowed.

A sudden urge to pull Marik tight to him gripped Bakura, but he settled for resting his cheek against Marik’s hair so as not to wake him.

Warmth filled his chest, and Bakura realized for the first time he was actually _grateful_ his revenge hadn’t gone according to plan. In the end, the Pharaoh had still died and restored the Items, releasing his people from their curse. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten to avenge them, but ending their torment had been the main goal anyway. And if he _had_ won, he’d most likely be trapped in the Shadows right now, rather than wrapped in Marik’s arms.

Sleep made his eyelids heavy as his thoughts slowed and his focus narrowed to the smell of Marik’s shampoo, the rightness of his body against Bakura’s.

The last thought he had before unconsciousness finally claimed him was that, if Marik was the only good thing to happen to him in this life, he would count himself lucky. Because for the first time in 3,000 years, Bakura was finally home.


End file.
